Fast Cars and Loose Visions
by stetsonblack
Summary: A client tries to have a little fun with Mike by driving fast. Too bad he didn't know about Mike's fear of speeding cars. Written for a prompt on the suitsmeme.


**This was filled for phreakycat's prompt on the suitsmeme: **

**"Pretty simple - someone tries to scare Mike or fuck with him by driving really fast and recklessly with him in the car. Sort of a "isn't it fun to watch Ross scream like a little girl?" thing. Or it could be someone (like Trevor) trying to get Mike to agree to something and doing the whole "I'm just going to go 80 mph and take my hands off the wheel until you agree to what I want" thing. I really don't care who/why as long as it's NOT Harvey - because I want HARVEY to be the one to calm Mike down and then go kick some serious ass for someone fucking with his associate. LOL**

**IDK, I just was thinking about a scene from another show where someone did something like that and my H/C-obsessed brain was like "Mike would probably be freaked out by that if we assume his parents died in a car wreck... Ooh, H/C potential!"**

**Much love for Mike sort of flipping out in the car and being all freaked out and shaky afterward, and Harvey being awesome and delivering some justice (either legal or street-style LOL)."**

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><p>Harvey was thoroughly enjoying their time with Geoffrey Thurgan. The man was the owner of a small but powerful and extremely successful credit reporting company, and he happened to share Harvey's interest for fast cars and expensive suits.<p>

They were at Thurgan's mansion, discussing new deals in between a banana yellow 1967 Miura Lamborghini and a silver 1955 Porsche 550 spyder. Harvey felt like he was in heaven. This man definitely had good taste.

Mike, meanwhile, looked extremely out of place, and Harvey nearly winced every time he saw him.

His associate was eyeballing the cars with awe and fear, and he kept a large distance between them and his person. It was probably a good idea, since with Mike's luck he'd probably end up scratching them and then they'd have a lawsuit on their hands—one they'd be on the wrong side of.

"What do you think, Harvey? Wanna go for a spin?" Thurgan asked him with a devilish grin on his face. Harvey started thinking up ways to get Thurgan's company anything they ever asked for forever as he thought of riding in that Porsche.

He was just about to accept the offer when his evil, interfering cell phone ruined his life.

He grimaced and Thurgan nodded understandingly as Harvey moved off to answer the call from Jessica, who probably had devastatingly bad news if she was calling during a meeting. At least, Harvey prayed it was devastatingly bad news; he wouldn't be able to accept that anything less had missed him his chance to ride in that masterpiece.

…

Mike was not having a good time.

He had been happy to have been brought along with Harvey to this meeting, of course, but he'd hardly expected to be around so many one-of-a-kind, priceless death-machines.

He'd done his best to keep his distance from the cars so as to avoid causing injury to them, and therefore himself. Harvey would kill him if he so much as breathed on them wrong.

So it was with a sinking feeling that Mike watched Harvey turn from a smiling Thurgan to take a call on his cell. He couldn't help feeling helpless as Thurgan sauntered over to him.

"Mike, was it?" Thurgan smiled.

"Yeah, um, yes, sir," Mike said, glancing desperately over to Harvey. The man was frowning and wincing and not paying him any attention. _He must be talking to Jessica_, Mike thought.

"Harvey and I were going to go for a ride, but I think he'll probably be occupied for quite some time. How do you feel about taking his place?" Thurgan asked him, as though Mike wasn't a third wheel here. The man was more Harvey's speed, but Mike had to admit that he was far more polite than his boss could ever be.

"Oh, no, really. You don't have to do that. I wouldn't want to leave Harvey here, he might need me," Mike stumbled out.

Thurgan gave a throaty laugh and Mike felt like he was being made fun of. He tried to catch Harvey's attention with a look, but the man had his back turned.

"I'm sure Harvey can handle things here. C'mon, it's fun! How often do you get the chance to ride in one of these?" Thurgan said seductively. Mike hoped he was just joking.

"I'm more of a bike person," he managed. He threw a glance at Harvey again, but Thurgan used Mike's moment of despair to drag him towards the Porsche.

"Harvey tells me you like trivia, Mike. Did you know this is the kind of car James Dean died in?" Thurgan asked, tugging gently but firmly on Mike's sleeve.

"September 30, 1955," Mike responded. They passed Harvey and Mike turned around to give him the most panicked look he could think of and mouthed 'HELP!' for emphasis. Cruel, cruel Harvey just gave a silent chuckle and carried on.

Thurgan was now sitting Mike down in the car's passenger seat, and Mike frantically scrambled to buckle his seat belt as Thurgan keyed the ignition.

And they were off. Mike had both hands clutching the strap that ran across his shoulder, wishing they weren't moving and that the car had a top. Or at the very least, a roll bar. He started thinking of all the car crash reports and news items he could remember, and images of crash scenes started replaying in his head. He really wished he were back with Harvey.

"See, isn't this fun?" Thurgan was saying.

Mike nodded frantically.

Thurgan laughed that throaty laugh again. "We're only going 20 mph, Mike. You can relax."

Mike finally realized—as he double checked the speedometer—that they really weren't going very fast at all. In fact, the weather outside was nice, and the open top provided a comfortable breeze. The view was fantastic, as well. Mike allowed a small embarrassed smile to form on his face.

Thurgan smiled back at him and turned the radio on to some jazzy station.

"You have something against cars?"

Mike started at the question. He didn't have anything against _cars_, per se, but he did have a problem with going fast. Going fast reminded him of a certain traumatic event that he'd much rather never relive. And for someone with his memory, not reliving an especially vivid and important memory was extremely difficult.

"I just don't like going fast," Mike said with an unconvincing laugh.

"Really? But, you know, this _is_ a racing car. It was built for speed. It's really a shame you don't get to experience her as she's meant to be," Thurgan said.

Mike was getting that bad feeling again, and he gripped the seat belt once more in anticipation of terror. He was starting to wish he was in a vehicle with air bags and a roof.

"No, really, that's okay. I don't need to go fast. This is fine," Mike said.

Thurgan turned and grinned maniacally at him. "Okay," he said, and then floored it.

The Porsche's engine revved to life and they picked up speed at an alarming rate. Mike tried his best not to have a heart attack, but he was certain he was failing, if he wasn't already in cardiac arrest and this wasn't some nightmarish vision on the road to Hell.

His vision did a strange expanding and decompressing trick that he realized with alarm meant he was having a vivid flashback.

The road was slick with rain, and the windshield wipers were going at a furious pace in a failing attempt to provide visibility.

His mom and dad were fighting again. He never knew why, but he couldn't remember what they were arguing about. It was the only thing about this memory that he couldn't remember, and it was the only thing he half-wanted to.

He was sitting in the back seat with his hands plastered to his knees, gripping them in frustration. Why couldn't they just go somewhere without having an argument? They always did this, and Mike felt left out, ignored.

His mom was driving and as her voice rose, she stepped harder on the pedal. They were gaining speed, and his dad was just yelling at her, making her go faster.

Mike watched in fear as they passed the other cars on the road. He'd glanced at enough of their newspapers to know how car crashes happened, and he knew the rain was bad enough that they should be extra careful.

They came up to a light, suddenly, and Mike could tell it was turning red, the yellow signal shining in the dark. But his mom stepped on the gas, her voice raising as she yelled back, and they sped into the intersection.

There was noise and heat and something sharp. A wrenching scraping twist of metal and when he looked again his parents were gone. In their place were two dying, screaming bodies, struggling to breathe, to live. His dad was reaching for him, and Mike tried to reach back. But he was trapped. He was stuck there, and he couldn't move, couldn't look away as he watched them die, bleed out.

He vaguely registered, over the sound of sirens and the crash of thunder and the patter of rain, that there were voices near him. They were arguing, and Mike panicked, thinking the memory had restarted, that his parents were fighting again.

But he realized that these voices seemed different. He recognized that one—smooth and confident, but definitely angry. _Harvey_, he thought belatedly.

"So you thought it was a good idea to joke about that?" Harvey was yelling.

"Look, I didn't realize that he would go all crazy. I was just having a bit of fun, Harvey," the other voice said. It too sounded familiar, deep and teasing. _Thurgan_, his brain supplied.

"He's not crazy. It's called post traumatic stress Geoff," Harvey sneered.

"I said I'm sorry, Harvey! What do you want me to do? I stopped as soon as I realized something was wrong and I brought him back safe and sound. See, he looks okay, now!" Thurgan was pointing at Mike as he started to sit up. He realized with a quick glance that he was no longer in the Porsche, or even in the garage. They seemed to be in Thurgan's living room, with Mike stretched out on the sofa.

"Mike, you alright?" Harvey asked, and Mike carefully forced down the impulsive need to joke about Harvey showing concern. He wasn't in a joking mood. Instead, he simply nodded and sat up, shaking his head to clear some of the images from the vision.

"Mike, I'm really very sorry. I was just trying to have a bit of fun. I didn't mean for this to happen. Are you sure you're okay?" Thurgan asked, genuine concern displayed on his face.

Mike weakly nodded at him as he made to stand up, and Harvey gave him a disapproving frown.

"I kind of just want to go home now," Mike muttered.

Harvey stared at Mike for a minute before turning to Thurgan. "We'll be talking about this later, Geoff. I'll have someone mail you the contract details later. Call Donna if you need to contact me," Harvey said coldly.

Thurgan frowned. "I see. Thank you for your time, Harvey. Let me know if I can make up for this in any way."

"I'll be in touch," Harvey said more gently this time, and Thurgan's frown lessened a bit.

"Take care, Mike," Thurgan said as Harvey led his associate out the door and into their car.

Harvey didn't turn the motor on, though, just sat down and waited. Mike figured he was waiting for him to do something and finally he guessed that he needed to buckle his seat belt.

When they still didn't start moving, Mike looked over at Harvey, wondering what he'd done now.

"Why aren't we moving?" he finally asked.

Harvey studied him for a moment before asking, "Are you going to be okay?"

"I'm fine," Mike sighed. "It's different."

"Different?" Harvey asked.

Mike felt mildly embarrassed as he tried to explain. "You're driving," he muttered.

"So what, you feel safe with me and not Geoffrey Thurgan?"

"This car has a roof. And reliable seat belts. And air bags. And…you're driving."

"I'm driving," Harvey echoed, like he was trying to test out the sound of that phrase. He nodded shortly and started the engine.

"Harvey?" Mike asked. When Harvey's hand stopped midair above the stick, Mike continued. "Thanks, for…"

"I'll go the speed limit," Harvey promised.

Mike gave him a relieved smile. "Sorry for ruining your chances with the cars."

Harvey just laughed at that. "Don't be. Now I can guilt him into letting me drive them whenever I want," he said.

"Oh, glad to see my personal traumas aren't destroying your life," Mike snorted.

"Don't be ridiculous. Only Louis qualifies for that position."

Mike smiled as they headed back to the office. _Home_, he thought.

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><p><strong>I originally wrote A Crash to Remember for this prompt as well. Thank you phreakycat for your awesomeness. Thank you lovely readers for reading and to anyone who reviews. You are greatly appreciated. <strong>


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